


feed, walk, and look after

by harcourt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curses, Gen, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, Vacation, animal transformation - dog, dog!venger, pet maintenance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=36586892#t36586892">this prompt</a>, where an Avenger is turned into a dog who acts like a dog, and gets dirty in the manner of dogs.</p><p>
  <i>So, obviously they need to give them a bath right? Like, kiddie pool in the front yard style. Complete with lawn hoses, dish soap and the most uncooperative dog on the face of the planet.</i>
</p><p>So what if Thor's rolled in every single thing on the beach that might even be thinking of having a smell? Tony still thinks it's a little socially awkward to wash the crown prince of Asgard in the driveway. With a garden hose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feed, walk, and look after

At least it happens in Malibu--or outside Malibu, rather, where there's a beach and outdoor space and suitable hairy beast distraction. Of course, it also means that there's washed-up fish and rotting seaweed and other stinky beach things to roll in, which Thor proceeds to do, either because it's the way of Asgard, or because whatever curse he's gotten himself cursed with is more behavior-encompassing than they'd first guessed.

"If we still had the mansion," Pepper starts, and lets it trail off. They don't though. The mansion is leveled and they're having what she calls a "normal people" vacation at a beach house Tony owns but had rarely used when he had a whole mansion in the relative vicinity. It's simple, with few enough bedrooms that they're mostly sharing, leaving Thor-the-cursed-dog to curl up in the papasan--a remainder from the nineties rattan fad--like it's some kind of big dog nest. The place is small enough that the reek of briny wet dog and rancid beach things is unavoidable. It's been slowly taking over the house, and now they've thrown open all the doors and windows and are all out back on the deck, waiting for the place to air out and considering their Asgardian dog problem.

"We could get a chain and a doghouse," Tony offers, "One of those igloo looking ones, even. Those are funny." Then, when the others don't laugh, explains, "Because it's Southern California."

"It's not like he'll get too cold," Clint says, with a thoughtful look that means he's on a different track, "It's a hundred degrees out there. Maybe he'd like a dog bath."

"He's _Thor_. Maybe he'd like a _shower_."

"He's rolling in dead fish," Natasha points out, "How picky can he possibly be? Right, big guy?" She scratches his ruff, oblivious of the fish reek or the gross way his fur is matted with salt and sand and what could be seaweed slime. Thor's a really big dog. Pale gold, with big, blunt features and folded ears that flop when he gallops up and down the beach after seagulls. Thankfully _not_ eating their poop, even though he does lug driftwood around in his mouth and sticks his head into holes that he digs in the sand, chasing god knew what. Steve and Bruce want to break the curse as soon as possible. Tony kind of suspects Clint and Natasha want to drag it out.

If not, they've invested an awful lot of time and expense in tug ropes and tooth-safe frisbees that Thor mostly ignores, until he suddenly decides they need burying and inters them near the waterline.

"There's some kind of black pool thing in the garage," Clint volunteers, sounding really too enthusiastic about the idea of bathing Thor. Tony tries to ignore how weird that is.

"That's for the fishpond I was going to build." Five years ago. He doesn't really use the beach house enough to maintain animal life there, but that's not really the point.

Nat and Clint ignore that. "The hose should reach the driveway," Natasha says, absently patting Thor's big dopey nose.

"Forcible bathing is probably some kind of assault," Tony points out. He can't believe he's the keeper of social propriety and non-awkwardness here. Not that Clint and Natasha seem particularly awkward about any of it, already arguing about soap versus shampoo versus quick trip to some pet shop like they don't have internet access to look any of this up or like they've regressed to some dog-summer-beach childhood neither of them had ever actually lived.

It's really sad when Tony thinks of it that way. He's pretty sure Steve had at least knocked in a fire hydrant or something. Or whatever they'd done for summer fun in ancient New York. And Bruce--possibly Bruce belongs on the _let's have a pet_ side of this thing, except that he also possibly has a more nuanced view of dehumanizing transformation.

"We might need a rope," Clint's saying, still in his _thinking_ tone, "In case he takes off. Dogs don't like baths."

"That's cats."

"Dogs," Clint insists, "Dogs, too."

"Steve," Tony says, "Will you do something about these two?"

Steve gives the whole business a flat, but not quite serious look. Then he makes a face and admits, "He does smell pretty bad, Tony. And we can't just leave him outside at night. Aren't there coyotes in this area?"

"He's _Thor_."

"What?" Clint demands, "So it's mean to wash him, but it's okay to let him fend for himself against wild animals?"

"I didn't say _mean_ , Barton. I said _weird_. And there's a garage we can lock him in at night."

"We can't lock him in the garage," Natasha says. "He's _Thor_." 

He can't keep up with the circular logic. It's possible Clint and Natasha are SHIELD trained in the bullshitting and anything-to-get-your-way department of nonsensical argument. "He can be perfectly comfortable in the garage. We can just move the--You know what? I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me come off like some kind of dog hater because I disagree with you."

"Thor won't care," Bruce decides, "It's hot out and he has a hundred pounds of fur and he's covered in seawater. He's sticky and he's probably miserable."

Thor doesn't look particularly miserable, lying on the porch with his feet hanging over the step and his tongue lolling out as he surveys the seagull activity. They've wised up enough to stay out of his territory, but Thor's not letting his guard down. Tony really doubts he's some sort of impending coyote victim, considering how he'd apparently bowled through SHIELD agents even as a regular mortal schmo. His dog-self is probably not any less capable. _And_ he's _huge_.

And very furry. Bruce is right about that. 

"Fine. Do what you want. But we're not giving him a poodle clip or whatever it's called. I don't care how miserable he is. He can just lie in the shade like the rest of us. No one's _making_ him terrorize the water fowl."

Clint grins. Natasha offers, "I have baby shampoo. That won't make him go bald, right?" It's aimed at Pepper, like she's some kind of dog raising expert, and Tony turns expectantly because maybe she _is_. He's kind of surprised to realize he doesn't know if Pepper has any pet keeping experience.

Hopefully, that doesn't make him a lousy boyfriend.

"I'll get the pool," Bruce says, and Steve follows him when he gets up to pad back into the house, "Bring him around, Clint. Not through. He'll make everything smell like week-old seagull again."

Clint waves in acknowledgement, not noticing that even Bruce is doubting his dogs-in-houses common sense. "Come on, Thor," he calls, like he's never known Thor as anything other than a really large dog. It sounds a few notes shy of baby talk, but Thor doesn't come, busy surveying his turf.

"Thor. Thor," Pepper tries, clapping her hands encouragingly, getting in on it. "Let's go out front." That maybe works on babies. Dogs, Tony's not so sure. It's sure not working on this one.

Clint tells them, "Hang on," and ducks inside to re-emerge with the rope from one of his grapple arrows and ties a loop into it, then drops it over Thor's head. Thor gives it a sniff, then licks his nose, then sneezes. They all laugh like it's the most charming thing they've ever seen. The curse is brilliant. Everyone's utterly _lost it_.

Clint gives the rope a tug, calling, "C'mon boy." Thor doesn't budge. If anything, he gets a little more solid and a little more droopy all at once. Clint tugs harder. " _Thor_. You stink like dead fish, man."

Oh, _now_ Clint remembers who he's talking to. It doesn't really make a difference. Thor cares a whole lot more about the gulls than he does Clint or the smells Clint thinks of as _stink_. Thor-as-a-dog clearly thinks of those smells as _fragrance_. And he doesn't seem particularly enthusiastic about getting rid of them either. Instead of following Clint's demands, he lazily scratches one ear then briefly chews his foot before relaxing and going back to his seagull watching.

He's a big oaf-y lug of a dog. Tony's not really surprised. 

Clint pulls, then pulls harder. Thor ignores it, or maybe just doesn't notice. "Lure him with ice cream, maybe?" Pepper suggests, and Clint and Natasha are about to weigh in on that with all the wisdom of being mentally nine years old all of a sudden now that they have access to a large dog, when Thor explodes down the beach, practically from a standstill, snarling and barking and probably taking the skin from Clint's hands as the rope flies out of them.

" _Fuck_ ," Clint hisses, pulling his hands in, then blowing on them as Natasha and Pepper take off after Thor, trying to herd him back from where he's barking and jumping, just shy of the surf. Tony's not sure where the seagulls-and-ducks-verboten line is, but it's clearly a Big Deal to Thor. 

Natasha and Pepper's chasing is pretty useless. Once his territory is secure, Thor comes jogging back, looking even more bedraggled, his tongue lolling sideways out of his open mouth and long tendrils of drool hanging from his jowls. He's panting hard enough that Tony thinks he might be giving himself heat stroke, and Pepper and Nat look like they feel about the same, dragging themselves back up and out of the sun, Natasha stopping to grab her sunhat from where it had blown off the porch in their hasty pursuit.

"Steve," Clint yells around the side of the house, gingerly picking the rope back up, "Call him."

There's a moment of hesitation. Steve, at least, still thinks this is a bit weird, but then his voice comes back, calling, "Thor. Hey," kind of hesitantly and like he's talking to Thor-the-man. "Come on out front a minute, would you?"

Natasha gives Thor's furry butt a push, urging him to go, but Thor's more interested in scratching sand out of his coat and sniffing along the edge of the porch, like he thinks there may have been intruders in the ten minutes he's been away and has to make sure. With his sore hands, Clint doesn't really have a choice but to let go or follow him, so it's more like a case of dog leading man than the other way around. 

"Thor," Steve tries again, this time with Bruce chiming in like some kind of dog-calling back-up vocal. Tony rolls his eyes. 

"Come on," he sighs, "He can't drag all four of us. Sorry, Thor, buddy, but play along. They're not going to give up, so can we please just get this over with?"

He goes to help Clint, grabbing the rope in front of his hands, and now that he's close to him, Thor really does stink. It's a mix of wet dog, old fish and the sick-sweet of something else dead too long to be attractive to the human nose. Underneath it, there's the salty scent of ocean. On Thor it doesn't smell fresh at all. 

"That's a smell I used to associate with bikinis and surfer babes," Tony says mournfully, meaning that sea-water tang, but Clint gives him a look like he thinks Tony might mean decomposing seaweed or the entirety of the dog-perfume Thor's layered himself in.

"Just pull, Tony."

\-----

With Nat and Pepper helping, they manage to drag Thor around to the driveway, where Steve and Bruce have the black plastic pond base and buckets of water set out. The garage door is open, and a green garden hose snakes out, its nozzle submerged in a filling bucket. "Warm water," Steve explains, a little triumphantly, like he's proud to have thought of it. It might be a million degrees out in the sun, but the water from the garage tap is icy, especially in contrast to the summer boil, so Tony nods approval as Thor sticks his head in the bucket and takes a long drink.

"That's _bathwater_ ," Natasha scolds, like that's somehow more gross than mouthing at beach debris, and follows it with, "Hold on to him. I'm getting the shampoo."

They have Steve now, which makes it easier to keep a hold on giant-horse-dog Thor. He doesn't seem that interested in making a break for it anyway, more involved with snuffling at Steve's hands and Bruce's pant leg like he doesn't know what's coming. The garage is also Thor-territory and Tony's not sure if he thinks Steve and Bruce have trespassed or if he's making sure no one else has. Maybe he's making sure no one else is getting too close to his people when they're out of his sight.

"Into the pool, buddy," Clint urges, pulling while Bruce pushes. Thor goes, but he doesn't stop, stepping back out on the other side. Clint and Bruce reverse, Clint trying to push him to go backwards and Bruce awkwardly tugging, not really able to get a good grip on anything but handfuls of fur.

Eventually, Thor does get in, but more because he wants another drink, slurping noisily at the water between his forefeet, tail wagging slowly. Bruce and Clint are panting and sweat-soaked, but Thor's having a great time as the center of attention, thinking it's all a game. But the second Steve tips a dipper full--or a saucepan full, really--of water over him, starting at his shoulders, he goes still. It's probably a weird sensation. Tony's not sure how much water, fish or dead seagull usually reaches his skin through his thick fur, but Thor looks like he doesn't know what to make of this, looking at Steve with a confused look, maybe tinged with a bit canine accusation. Despite Tony being the one standing up for his interests, it's obvious Thor's been thinking of Steve as a dog's best human.

Up to that point, at least.

As soon as Thor figures out that what he's feeling is _wet_ and a bath instead of wonderful _gross stinky wet_ , he tips his head back and howls like he's heartbroken at the betrayal as well as in physical agony. Steve freezes at the sound of it, but Pepper doesn't, taking the saucepan from him and pouring another scoop of water over Thor, muttering, "Come on. Stop with this dog drama."

"It's embarrassing," Clint adds, as Natasha comes back, clomping on the wood of the beach house floors, her footsteps turning to soft crunching as she steps out and down to the pebbles of the driveway.

Thor whines, but as soon as everyone is close by, shakes off. Natasha and Clint and Steve have the reflexes to see it coming just before he does it, and jump back, but Bruce and Pepper end up soaked. Fluffy Thor can hold maybe twenty of gallons of water in his coat. The volume of spray is impressive and even after he stops, there's a fine mist hanging around him. 

And then he realizes that Steve's dropped the rope and takes off, splashing water out of the pool and over Bruce's shoes, and takes off down the driveway before turning to tear off down the side of the road, Clint and Natasha in hot pursuit, with Bruce tailing a little slower and Pepper yelling after them, a little uselessly, "Don't chase him. He'll think you're playing. He won't come back if you chase him."

She looks like she's thinking about chasing after the chasers, so Tony tells her, "Don't chase them, Pep. They'll think it's a game."

"He could get hit by a car," Steve worries.

"He's the size of a cow. I'd be more worried about the car." 

He's not sure how far Thor gets, but after maybe twenty minutes, all four of them come back. Natasha looking pleased with herself and holding the makeshift leash and Bruce looking like he's seen more exercise in the last hour than in the last year. As soon as they make it back to the driveway, he stumbles inside the house for a drink, while Pepper and Steve get Thor back in the pool.

"Stay," Clint orders, as if Thor-the-dog had been listening to _any_ commands other than _hey, food_ , holding his hands up for emphasis or clarification, " _Stay_."

Thor, miraculously, sits, tail splashing Pepper again as it swishes through the water. Clint grins, like he thinks he's some kind of dog whisperer and usurping Pepper's may-have-had-an-actual-childhood-pet expertise, but when he tries pouring more water over Thor's drying coat, Thor shakes off without getting up and this time manages to catch Clint with his spray. 

"You're wet anyway," Natasha tells him, ready with the shampoo bottle, "Keep going."

"Help Clint hold him, Tony," Pepper says, "I'll pour."

"Me? Why not Cap?" Steve's the one who's let himself be sucked into this dog wash thing, but before Tony can present his case, Bruce re-emerges from the house with a glass in one hand, and Thor decides he needs to investigate what that is, in case he's missing out on deliciousness. He doesn't even have to pull. He just walks calmly out of the pool, pulling Clint into it because he won't let go like Pepper has, in case they end up with another dog-escape. He doesn't have good footing on the driveway pebbles, so there's really no hope of resistance. He just gets sort of dragged onto his belly in the water, cursing as he tries to flail his way back to his feet without letting go.

Tony laughs. This dog thing is really improving. Even Steve looks like he's holding back chuckles as Thor shakes Clint off and heads over to put his paws on Bruce's chest, sniffing.

"It's water," Bruce protests, pushed back by his weight, holding his glass up out of reach, "Just water," but he manages to use it to lure Thor back to the wash-zone where Clint grabs on with both hands and pulls. They're both in the pool now and Natasha quickly pours a line of yellow shampoo along Thor's back, then pops the bottle closed against her hip and starts scrubbing, Pepper re-wetting Thor's fur with little dips of the saucepan.

The water runs a kind of yucky gray when Steve rinses him off, and Clint makes a face at it and says, "I'm sitting in fish water."

"You can shower after," Bruce tells him, "Let's just get this done."

"Lather, rinse, repeat," Tony says, picking up the bottle and gingerly pouring another line onto Thor, staying arm's length away, then dribbles some onto Clint. Natasha grins and scrubs at his head.

"Hey. Hey, come on," Clint grouches, "Dog wash, you guys. _Dog_ wash." A dribble of foam runs down the side of his face, and he splashes as he simultaneously tries to wipe it off on his shoulder and keep Thor from licking it away. The minute he manages, Thor gives another shake, this time spraying everyone, and when Clint reflexively lets go to shield his face, takes off into the house.

"Fucking hell," Tony swears, as Steve shucks off his wet, doggy shirt.

"Well? Someone go get him. I'm soaked."

"We're all soaked." Tony isn't really. His jeans are uncomfortably damp from hem to knee, though. Pepper gives him a look, so he sighs and goes in after Thor, following the trail of puddles and suds until he finds him with his face in the kitchen trash. 

"That's disgusting. You're a _prince_. Remember your honor and family name and stuff," he says, and opens the freezer to grab an ice cream. He peels off the paper lid and holds it under Thor's big black nose, letting him sniff, then lick. "Tasty, right? Let's go outside and eat it in the driveway. Maybe in that dog hot tub. Cold tub. Whatever."

"Aww," Pepper coos when they emerge back into the front yard, Tony walking backwards and Thor edging along like he's being led by the tongue, licking at the ice cream cup with surprising delicacy. Then she says, "That was my idea, you know."

"You didn't act on it," he says, "and that's nine tenth of idea patent law."

Thor follows him happily back onto the pebbled driveway. Not back into the pool, but he's pretty much shampoo-ed already, so as long as Steve and Bruce don't wash the soap into his face, everything should be fine. Even if Thor shakes himself off every two minutes.

Clint picks the rope back up and wraps it around his hand--which is probably a bad idea, but if he didn't learn from the first dog-incited rope burn, then mentioning it probably won't get through his thick skull either--and uses his free hand to wipe clean water over Thor's face, avoiding parts of him busy with the ice cream.

"Good job, team," Tony says, "We can just about successfully wash a dog."

It's supposed to be sarcastic, but Pepper high-fives him like she doesn't notice.

\-----

Coulson arrives in the late afternoon. Ostensibly to check on how their curse is playing out, but when he steps out of his flashy little midlife crisis car to survey the mess of the yard and drive, he's wearing his secret agent shades but also a worn-comfy gray polo with all the buttons popped off and red hibiscus print board shorts. Tony raises an eyebrow at the sight of his bare, pale shins. Let him try to judge their yard. _Let him try_.

Despite the yard looking like a water-war zone--buckets and hose and saucepan abandoned where they dropped--the place is quiet. There's just the sound of surf and leaves rustling and distantly, the squawking of sea birds. Phil looks a bit discomfited, so Tony lounges in the doorway and lets him get his stuff--a very un-agent like tote and flamingo-pattern overnight bag. This is a professional visit for _sure_.

"Stark," Phil greets, in a bland, even tone. Like thinks that will fool anyone when he's arrived wearing _flip flops_.

"I didn't realize you had toes," Tony says, "I thought your business loafers might actually be fused on." He doesn't get a response, so he makes room and gestures for Phil to come in. "Everyone's out back. Thor is still woolly and your agents are apparently thinking of clipping him for the summer, so please control them."

It's shady in the house, and Phil takes off his glasses as he steps inside, then stops to acclimate. Then stays stopped. "What the hell happened here?" he asks, taking in the mess of water and shampoo suds still puddling on the floor in a trail from door to kitchen and back. 

"Don't ask," Tony says, leading him through the living room and out to the back deck, nodding at their small dog-haired-to-death couch as he passes it, "If you stay, you get the fold-out."

Phil _mm_ -s noncommittally, still pretending he's here on SHIELD business and not beach business, and dumps his bags in a corner then follows Tony outside. 

The team is zonked out, a faint smell of baby shampoo and damp dog hanging about them. Clint and Bruce are sort of sprawled sideways, sharing the hammock, their feet dragging a little on the deck as it swings. Clint's down to shorts, his soaked clothes hung haphazardly over a rail and Bruce's glasses are crooked and barely clinging to his slack face. Pepper's snoring softly on a deck chair, with Steve in its double, sketchbook hanging limply from one hand, pencil held to his chest under the other. Only Natasha seems awake, sitting on a beach towel by the steps, leaning against a support pole, but when Tony calls her name, she mumbles and her head slumps sideways a bit.

"Phil's here," Tony tells them in a whisper. Then offers Phil, "Feel like a beer? While the kids take their nap?"

Phil looks over them and smiles, then shrugs and comes back inside. Down by the water, Thor is alternately barking at gulls and rolling around on his back, feet ridiculously pawing at the air, his tail swishing over the wet sand in doggish joy.


End file.
